We big men and women
lording over primal ponds before us,
these beginnings of things:

once frothy, potted, unified,
have been portioned out
into waiting cups, dense
with protein and greens, soft
and translucent under parting steam-

and the grease wrung from wet meat
rising and setting, its sweaty film
breaking on brothy shores - essential
as oils in our fingers, as paint
smeared on cheekbones on the eve
of a hunt, spears above our heads
in wars against our hungry nature.

We gods and gluttons, mouths
likes storms, warm with spittle
and low groans of the belly,

accepting all that tumbles past
the guarding teeth, reserving
fluid in expanded cheeks,
slowly draining until sated,
leaving bowls and tongues
dry and waiting.

02/02/2004

Author's Note: Workshop assignment I, "objects upon which the eye alights" - an ode to soup, sort of.

Posted on 02/02/2004
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